Taming the Notorious Sicilian

How had she missed her own sister growing up? It had happened right before her eyes and she’d been oblivious to it. Melanie had followed Hannah to London. She had been the one to keep the sisterly relationship going—she’d been the one who’d kept the whole family going. Unlike their parents, who still took Hannah’s reclusiveness at face value, Melanie at least tried. It was always at her suggestion that they would go out for lunch. It was always Melanie who organised their monthly visits back to Devon, carefully selecting the weekends Hannah wasn’t on shift. Melanie, who had never wanted anything more than the company of her big sister.

Her sister. The same flesh and blood as herself and Beth.

Hannah took another sniff of the flowers. ‘Do you want to come with me and give them to her?’

‘Really?’ Melanie was too sweet to even pretend to fake nonchalance.

When it came to visiting Beth, Hannah preferred solitude. Alone, she could chat to her and fill her in on all the family and work gossip.

Since the funeral she had never visited with anyone else.

She had done far too many things alone.

All those wasted years hiding herself away, too numb from the pain of her broken heart to even consider letting anyone in—not her parents, not her sister. No one. And she hadn’t even realised she was doing it, pretending to be content in her little cocoon.

She hadn’t meant to let Francesco in. If she’d known the risk to her heart, she would have taken his advice at the first turn and found a safer method to start living her life.

But she had let him in. In return he’d dumped her in the cruellest of fashions.

She didn’t care about his reasons. He’d left her to face this day alone and she would never forgive him.

Except she wasn’t alone....

Her heart had opened for him, but it had also opened for her poor neglected family, who wanted nothing more than to love her. All those years spent hiding her heart from them had been wasted years, she could see that now.

She didn’t want to hide any more. She couldn’t. She needed them. She loved them.

Ironically, Francesco’s rejection had helped in an unexpected fashion. She would not allow Melanie’s big day to be ruined by him.

Fixing her old practised smile to her face, she took Melanie’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. ‘Why don’t we leave now? We can do it before the ceremony starts.’

Melanie’s eyes shone. ‘I would really like that.’

‘Beth would, too. And so would I.’

* * *

Francesco checked his watch. It was bang on half past one.

In thirty minutes Melanie Chapman would walk down the aisle, followed by her doctor sister.

He swatted the thought away.

Now was not the time to be wondering how Hannah was holding up.

Now was the time for action.

With Mario and Roberto by his side, he strolled through the lobby of the neutral hotel both parties had agreed upon and headed up in the lift to the private suite hired for the occasion.

Two men, equally as large as his own minders, guarded the door.

‘Wait here,’ he said to his men.

This conversation was private.

Sweeping past them, he stepped into the room and shut the door.

He could taste the malice in the air in his first inhalation.

Luca sat at the long dining table, his black eyes fixing on him.

Pepe leant against a wall, his arms folded.

Hannah would be on her way to the church...

Where had that thought come from?

He’d successfully pushed Hannah out of his mind since he’d left her home. He’d cut her out. He would not allow himself to think of her. Or the pain on her face. Or the words she’d said, her implication that he was exactly like his father.

He was not like his father.

If he was anything like his father, Luca and Pepe would both be long dead by now—Pepe when he’d tried to fight him all those years ago, Luca when he’d broken their partnership. He hadn’t just broken their partnership, he’d severed their friendship, too.

‘Well?’ said Luca, breaking the silence. ‘You’re the one who wanted this meeting. What do you want, Calvetti?’

He’d thought he’d known. The casino. The final piece in the obliteration of Salvatore Calvetti’s legacy.

His revenge against the man Francesco had learned too late had used his mother as a punchbag.

As hard as he tried to push her out, the only image in his head was Hannah, lying on the cold concrete and opening her eyes, that serene smile that had stolen his breath.